Nancy joined her by the wall, wrapped in a thick shawl.
“There’ll be an early winter, I think.” Catherine felt the eyes on her, full of affection and anxiety. “If only you could stay a while longer. But if there’s anything you need, you have only to write and let me know.” She slipped an arm around her waist, like a young girl again. The girl who had been in love with a midshipman, the young Richard Bolitho’s best friend.
“We have many things to do before we sail for Spain, Nancy. I have so enjoyed being here with you.”
They stood in silence for a moment.
“You mustn’t worry about Tamara. She’ll be well exercised and cared for, until…” She broke off. “You know what I mean.”
Catherine said deliberately, “I am not living at Chelsea now, Nancy. I am staying at Lord Sillitoe’s house in Chiswick.” She had started; she could not stop. “I have never felt the same about the Chelsea house since that night.” She felt Nancy ’s grip tighten around her waist. “Sometimes of late I have seen men watching the house, or imagined I have. Waiting for a chance to see that woman.”
Nancy asked softly, “Shall you marry this Sillitoe? It is obvious to me that he adores you, and rightly so. Remember, I did not marry Roxby for love, but it grew to something even stronger. I still miss him.”
They turned away from the wall to face the carriage. It was time.
Catherine said, “He gave up his appointment to the Prince
Regent because of me. I shall not destroy his life as well with another scandal.” She inclined her head, as if someone had spoken to her. “I shall tell you, you of all people.”
There were faces at the upper windows, servants looking out as that woman prepared to leave their ordered world. And Elizabeth would be here tomorrow. Another challenge, for both of them. Nancy had sent her to Bodmin with her governess to arrange for some more appropriate clothing and to see something of the town.
Growing up fast, Nancy had said. A withdrawn, demure child who had been too long in the company of older people. She had told Catherine about the day following the girl’s arrival. It had been hard to tell how she had been affected by her mother’s untimely death, and even now she was still not sure.
But on that day Nancy had taken her down to one of the beaches where Catherine had so often walked with Richard. Some children had been standing in the shallows, hunting for shells, Nancy thought. Elizabeth had remarked on their bare feet. Had the children no shoes? Were they too poor to own them?
She had said, “My word, when I think what we used to do at her age!”
Catherine turned and embraced her with great feeling.
“I shall never forget your kindness, and your love. I have always known why Richard cared so much for you.”
The door was open, a gloved hand was held out to support her wrist, Nancy was crying, and suddenly the wheels were moving.
Out on to the road, which ran in the other direction to the old grey house. Where she had waited, and hoped, for the sound of his voice.
When she looked again, the hillside had moved out to hide the house and the small figure who was still waving.
She sat back against the soft leather and stared at the parcel wrapped in its spotless napkin. His old boat-cloak was folded beside it, which she had always worn when the wind was blowing coldly off the Bay. There were scissors in the pocket, and she had found one rose still alive and blooming in that familiar garden.
But she had been unable to cut it. And was glad. It was a part of her. It belonged there.
The last rose.
Unis Allday knotted the ties of a fresh apron behind her back and gave herself a critical glance in the parlour glass. The first customers would be arriving soon, most likely buyers and auctioneers on their way to market in Falmouth, and it would be busy at the Old Hyperion inn. She checked each item in her mind, as she did every day. Deliveries of meat and fowl, ale from the brewery.
She walked to the door of the Long Room. Rugs brushed clean of the mud from farm workers’ boots, shining mugs and fashionable glasses for the salesmen, and a fire burning in the grate even though it was only October.
A carter had told her that fishermen had reported heavy mist around Rosemullion Head. They were all talking of an early winter.
Little Kate was out walking with Nessa, the new servant at the inn, a tall, dark woman who rarely smiled but had drawn many an admiring glance nevertheless. Not least from Unis’s brother, the other John. She was younger than he, but Unis thought she would be good for him; it would be a new beginning for both of them. Nessa had fallen for a soldier from the garrison at Truro; it was a familiar enough tale. She had carried and lost his child, and her lover had been posted with unseemly haste to the West Indies.
Nessa’s parents were good chapel people, well known in Falmouth for their strict Christian beliefs. They had turned their daughter out of the house without hesitation.
Unis had taken her into the inn and she had settled down, perhaps grateful for Unis’s trust, and her own sturdy interpretation of Christian charity.
The door from the stable yard swung open and John Allday strode into the parlour.
She knew instantly that something was wrong with him, her man, her love. She also thought she knew what it was.
Allday said heavily, “I just seen Toby the cooper’s mate. He told me Lady Catherine was up at the house. Yesterday, he said.” It sounded like an accusation.
She faced him; she had been right. “I did hear something about it.” She put a hand on his sleeve; it looked very small and neat on his massive arm.
“You never said?”
She regarded him calmly. “And well you knows why, John. You’re coming to terms with things. So let you think of her, too. Poor lamb, she’s got more’n enough to carry.”
Allday smiled fondly. Small, neat and pretty. His Unis. But woe betide anyone who tried to take advantage of her. She was strong. Stronger than me in many ways.
They walked to the window together. The place had been in debt when she had bought it. Now it was prospering and looked pleased with itself. One of the ostlers was doing his usual trick with a potato, making it disappear in mid-air and then holding out both tightly clenched fists and letting little Kate choose the one where it was hidden. The child was thinking about it now, her face screwed up with concentration, while Unis’s brother stood nearby, watching the dark-haired Nessa.
The child tapped a fist, and it was of course empty, and she screamed with delight and frustration. It never failed.
“We’ve done well, John.” And they were widening the lane across Greenacre Farm; coaches would be stopping here soon. People had laughed at old Perrow when the plan had been made public, but they would be laughing on the other sides of their faces before long. The wily squire would charge a toll for every coach that crossed his land.
Allday said, “You’ve done well, lass.”
It was there again, the old sense of loss. Like when he had told her about Captain Tyacke calling at Falmouth in his new command.
She heard her brother’s wooden leg thudding across the floor, and wondered what Nessa thought about that, or if she had even guessed his feelings for her.
He said, “Someone asking for you, John.”
Allday came out of his thoughts. “Me? Who is it?”
He grinned. “Didn’t offer, John.” He added, “Odd-looking cove. Knows you right enough.”
Allday opened the other door and stared past the fire. There were two people in the room already, a black dog snoozing between them.
For a moment he thought he was mistaken. The wrong surroundings. The wrong background.
Then he strode across the room and grasped the newcomer around his narrow shoulders.
“Tom! In God’s name, Tom Ozzard! Where in hell have you been hiding?”
“Oh, here and there. Up home in London, mostly.”